


Expectations

by chaos_monkey



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, Hands, M/M, Post-Coital Cuddling, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-01
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:54:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23931154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_monkey/pseuds/chaos_monkey
Summary: Jaskier and Geralt both find out that the other's touch is... not what they had anticipated.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 27
Kudos: 244





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> A little fluffy short for the [Soft Smut Sunday Tumblr](https://softsmutsunday.tumblr.com/) prompt this week: _Hands_  
>  ~~I couldn't wait until Sunday~~

Geralt’s hands really weren’t what Jaskier had expected. He’d expected rough skin covering an even rougher, unforgiving grip; raw power and hardened callouses from long years travelling and countless battles wielding that massive sword. 

Not that Jaskier would have _minded_ that. He’d lost himself to fantasy many a time simply watching Geralt’s hands while the witcher sharpened his sword or cleaned his armour, imagining, longingly, how they would feel on _him_ instead; those big hands pinning his wrists easily to a bed or a wall, strong fingers tight on his hips and his cock, pushing roughly inside him and making him howl and beg for more. 

What he’d gotten instead, the first time he felt those hands on him, was so much… _softer_ than he had expected. Powerful, yes, and strong; but with surprisingly smooth skin and an almost delicate touch. Gentle, careful fingers stroking softly through his hair and dancing agonizingly lightly over his cock, until he was reduced to a shivering, mewling mess of sensation under the witcher’s coaxing hands. 

In hindsight, when he was capable of thought again and lazily tracing his fingertips over the beautiful hands that had played him as well he had ever played his own lute, Jaskier realized he really should have known. With a witcher’s quick healing, callouses wouldn’t last. And the way Geralt always tried to protect him, shield him from even the most minor of injuries… Jaskier suspected Geralt was afraid he might break if he wasn’t handled with the same gentle care he had seen the hulking witcher use with the tiny, delicate flowers he collected for his potions. 

Some other time, Jaskier would have to make sure Geralt knew he could handle— and most definitely _wanted_ to handle— much rougher treatment than any flower could. But for now, with Geralt toying idly with his hair, nuzzling at his neck and making the most unbelievably contented, _soft_ little noises he’d ever heard from the witcher… Jaskier thought he’d never been so happy to have been wrong about something before. 

* * *

Jaskier’s hands really weren’t what Geralt had expected. He’d expected soft touches from nimble, dextrous fingers; light and quick from years of making them dance and fly over the strings of his lute. 

Not that Geralt would have _minded_ that. He’d gotten dangerously distracted more than once in the evenings after they made camp, watching Jaskier’s hands coax the softest sounds he had ever heard from the strings of his lute; unable to stop himself imagining how those hands would feel trailing over his body instead, that graceful touch ghosting across his skin and teasing his cock with gentle caresses until he went blissfully mad with the need for more. 

What he’d gotten instead, the first time he felt those hands on him, was so much more… _intense_ than he had expected. Graceful, yes, but with a surprising amount of power in that firm grip. Strong fingers that dug into his back and gripped his shoulders hard enough to leave bruises, even on him; rough callouses that somehow only increased the pleasure of Jaskier’s confident, sure touch on his cock until he was reduced to a gasping, shuddering mess under the bard’s skillful hands. 

In hindsight, when he was capable of thought again and watching Jaskier idly tracing intricate patterns over his palms with the fingers that had gotten him writhing and moaning embarrassingly quickly, Geralt realized he really should have known. With the amount of time Jaskier spent practicing his songs, those callouses would never disappear. And the way he had seen Jaskier play for hours on end without showing any signs of tiring… Geralt suspected the slender bard’s hands were stronger than those of many men who wielded a sword for a living. 

Some other time, Geralt would have to actually tell Jaskier how good his gentle touches felt too— like when he carefully worked the tangles out of Geralt’s hair for him or fussed over even his most minor wounds— but for now, with the bard humming contentedly to himself while those strong fingers lazily massaged out deep knots of tension he hadn’t even _known_ were in his hands and arms… Geralt thought he’d never been so happy to have been wrong about something before. 


End file.
